Tuesday, June 06, 2006

This picture hangs in our local Sears Portrait Studio. (This is a photo of the photo.)

If you looked veeeery very closely at it, you would see that, actually, it is not JUST a photograph, but an "oil painting-like treatment" of a photograph that was, in fact, taken at Sears Portrait Studio.

Now, just imagine, if you will, being a parent of two lovely but rambunctious children. The older one, for some reason, finds the whole picture-taking experience to be exciting beyond words, and is particularly active that day. Even with mom and dad both there to referee, there is some valid concern that extreme spazziness will render this entire photo shoot null and void.

However, wonderously, some of the shots actually come out pretty good, and mom sets herself to the task of selecting which shots will be purchased, and in what format. Does she need the sepia-toned or soft-focused ones? Ones with a fancy (ugly) border? Little mosaics of her lovelies all cut up and stuck together. "Oh, no," she says, smartly and frugally, as she pinches her purse primly in her lap. "We'll probably just get the minimum purchase allowed. With the coupon, of course."

But then, the nice picture-taking lady says, "Wow, that one turned out great," and summons her manager over. The manager says, "That one is beautiful! You know, that would make a perfect oil print to hang on our wall! Would you mind us doing that?"

My children, on your wall? You want my children to serve your capitalistic means, because you think they are perfect icons of childhood, and the very sight of them will make others whip out their wallets to attempt to capture some of this joy?

No, no, I wouldn't mind. At all.

Sigh. Ah, yes, the picture-buying. Um...I guess...I'll take...all of them? You say they're $7.99 a sheet? No, no, 15 sheets isn't too much at all. Hell, throw in an extra-charged sepia toned soft-focused one, too, so I can put it in some old-timey frame. (For...that Victorian room we don't have in our 1950's house! Yeah!)

Don't judge. I'm weak. And The Man is too. Oh, he groused about the money, but he's found his way to the (recently renamed) Sears Gallery of Beautiful and Very Important Art to visit the "installation," too.

About Me

Somehow, the disturbed and twisted person I am (and have always been) has ended up to be a sickeningly happy wife, professional, and mother of two.
How can I be true to my dark, goth heart, in the face of this horrible irony?